


Born Sick

by BlackHolesandUnicorns



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Academy phase, Anal Fingering, Azure Moon Route, Breathplay, M/M, Mental Illness, Mutual Pining -- but wait! Felix sucks, Pre-Timeskip Feral Dimitri, Ugly Emotions, mildly dubcon, self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackHolesandUnicorns/pseuds/BlackHolesandUnicorns
Summary: Felix had begun to doubt himself, to wonder if he'd imagined the madness he'd seen in Dimitri two years ago. As it turns out, he shouldn't have.In which a confrontation goes bad, and then worse, and then very briefly better, and then takes a hard nose dive.





	Born Sick

The beast had returned.

It stalked the halls of Garreg Mach monastery, muttering and snapping its teeth and laughing bitterly at cruel jokes only it could hear. The wise knew best, and avoided it entirely.

But Felix had never been wise.

In truth, he had begun to wonder, to doubt his own memories. He’d laid awake, trying to summon up red-tinged demons, to reinforce the veracity of his reality. Those visions of their western campaign had haunted his nightmares: Dimitri’s sickening, blood-curdling grin, his echoing, maniacal laughter, the sight of his hands and face plastered in blood and gore. The things he’d witnessed had infected him, poisoning all of his best and oldest recollections. But it had been years, and newer, fresher, better memories had overwritten them. Softer smiles, a rumbling, self-effacing chuckle, his maddeningly handsome face powdered with flour after a disastrous kitchen shift.

With the all edges dulled and the details blurred by time, the intensity of his disgust had begun to fade, as well, despite his desire to maintain it, to wield it as a shield against the man he felt it for. Questions seeped in, and doubts. Had Dimitri really gone as unhinged as he’d thought? It had been Felix’s first battle, after all, and the shock of real combat could do things to you, fuck with your head. Who hadn’t thrown back their head and laughed when the thrill of adrenaline overcame the grim horror? Who didn’t grit their teeth in something that could be seen as a smile? He’d been barely fifteen. The only death he’d ever seen up close had been shooting pheasants and the occasional stag. He’d been unprepared. He’d been overwhelmed. He must have misunderstood. He’d been acting like this, treating Dimitri like this, and it had all been the stupid mistake of an idiot, green kid.

Except.

He was not above some small amount of pettiness. He was not _proud_, nor was he happy. Far from it. But those nights he’d spent staring at the wall that separated their dormitories, questioning his very reality -- well.

He could rest quite easy.

It had not been a mistake. Not a misunderstanding. He’d seen what he’d seen.

And now, everyone else had seen it, too.

They looked at him as if he were some sort of prophet, now. The one who’d seen it coming! A dubious honour at best, made worse because it was true. Ever since the Holy Tomb, they didn’t know what to do about Dimitri, how to talk to him. Sylvain had that look he sometimes did, expressionless and staring while he tried to process something. Ingrid could barely even look at him. Even infuriatingly sweet, patient Mercedes turned her face away when he walked near, as if anything so simple could make him go away.

Was it any wonder that the responsibility of watching him had fallen to Felix?

No one had volunteered him for it. They hadn’t even asked. And, if he was being charitable, he could admit that, perhaps, this was a duty he had appointed to himself, rather than one he’d been press ganged into. But here, now, as he lurked in the shadows beneath the awnings in the training grounds, listening to the wild boar murmur and grunt to himself whilst he endlessly repeated the same forms beneath the unblinking eye of the moon… well. He was not feeling especially charitable.

He recognized the motions. Basic spear formations. His lips curled back as he recalled them. Dimitri had never had a choice of what weapon he would specialize in -- Areadbhar and tradition had chosen for him. He’d struggled with those basic movements where Ingrid and Sylvain had excelled. To help him, to encourage him, and, in truth, simply to be near to him, Felix had picked up a staff himself and joined them, clumsily going through the motions. His father had prided him on his commitment to expanding his weapons training. Glenn had ruffled his hair and laughed. _Playing tag-along with the prince, more like,_ he’d mocked in that way of his that never quite cut, though Felix had been mortified and furious to be called out so accurately.

The forms were simple, repetitive, meant to strengthen and teach fundamentals. Hardly a proper regimen for a skilled and practiced combatant. But Dimitri had been doing them for hours, since he’d wandered here after the dining hall had cleared out, since the shadows had grown long, since the grounds had emptied, since sunset, since twilight, since evening, since nightfall. The hound from Duscur had come by, the only other who would look at the boar in his state. He’d spoken in low tones while Felix watched, eyes narrowed. Was he offering to train alongside him? Begging him to take a rest? Or even encouraging him in his single-minded pursuit of the new Emperor’s head?

Whatever it had been, he’d been rebuffed, and left looking like a kicked hound. Suiting.

Dimitri had continued, his rhythm relentless and unceasing.

He’d removed his jacket, and then his waistcoat. His white shirt clung to him, drenched with sweat. His usually shining hair plastered against his forehead, strands clinging to the back of his neck. His boots shuffled along the stones, making the same repetitive sounds, over and over, mingling with the swish of his thighs sliding together, his grunts of effort, and his endless, unsettling chatter. At some point, hours ago, it had become a sort of music. Felix syncopated his breathing into it.

He ought to go to bed.

As if he could leave him like this, until he either perfected whatever arcane skill he was attempting to master or, more likely, collapsed, shaking from exhaustion, to be found in the morning. 

He laughed under his breath. Right. Absolutely. Just five more minutes, and he’d _definitely_ pack up and head off.

It had been hours since he’d made any sound, but he didn’t think twice of it. Not until Dimitri’s head came up and, finally, for the first time in forever, slowed in his paces, cocking his head towards the spot where Felix stood, watching.

He paused, as if listening for another sound. Felix held his breath. He wasn’t hiding, or ashamed. It was simply that he felt as if he was observing a wild animal in truth, and he wanted to see what the beast would do.

“I know,” the boar growled. “I heard it, too.”

Hysterical, disbelieving laughter bubbled up in Felix’s throat. Who was he even talking to? His collar felt too tight. He reached up, loosened it.

“No. You’re right. I saw. Someone comes.” The tip of his practice spear rose, pointed in Felix’s direction. “Who is it? Show yourself.”

Felix did laugh then. Bitterly, incredulously, sour anger curling into his gut. “Unbelievable,” he breathed. He’d accepted that his vigil had gone unremarked. He had not anticipated that it might have gone _unnoticed_.

Dimitri raised his chin, nostrils flaring as if scenting the air. A wave of disgust rolled through Felix’s stomach at the sight.

“You know, when I called you a beast, I didn’t mean it literally.”

The tip of the spear wavered, and then lowered. Dimitri’s brow furrowed, as if he was thinking very hard, and he cocked his head to one side. Listening, again. Felix’s heart skipped a beat. _Who did he think was talking to him?_ More than crushed skulls and jubilant laughter, more than sick smiles and blank stares, it unsettled him to his core.

“Felix,” he said finally, slowly. “Is that… that’s you, isn’t it?”

Had whatever ghost whispered in his ear told him that? Felix stepped forward, out of the shadows, into the glaring moonlight. “I wasn’t hiding,” he said tersely. “I thought you knew. Even that was too much credit, it would seem.”

Dimitri looked about, seeming to take notice of his surroundings for the first time, and then up, directly into the baleful, pale eye of the moon above. He swallowed, the ball of his throat bobbing, and then met Felix’s gaze once again.

Felix looked quickly away. Prolonged eye contact made his skin crawl at the best of times, and Dimitri’s eyes, once so brilliant and big and sweet that he daydreamed about them, couldn’t have been more haunted.

He heard his boots crunch against the uneven stone slabs of the floor, the drag of his wooden spear. “It’s late. You… why are you not in bed?”

Felix barked a humourless laugh. “I don’t think anyone is exactly patrolling for little scamps defying curfew,” he said. “Considering they’re about to send us out to fight and die for them.”

“Fight,” Dimitri echoed, and for the first time, his voice seemed to hold some light, some hope. It made his next words all the more grotesque. “But not die. Kill. And it will not be for them. I care not for the Church, for the archbishop, for the Empire’s declaration of war upon the followers of Seiros.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Dimitri take one step back, hold his arms wide, the spear still clutched tight in his hand. “I have only one goal! I hear you, what you demand! I will pluck out her eyes. I will pull out her entrails. I will crush her skull. I --”

His stomach roiled. He had only his ceremonial sword, still strapped to his hip, but he drew it regardless, teeth bared, putting steel into the space between them.

It silenced the tirade.

Felix scanned his face, noting the glassy look in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the twist in his lips. It was the strangest thing. Three weeks before, it had been his birthday. Dimitri had given him a gift, a crystal bottle of fine sword oil. His eyes had been soft, kind, like he remembered from before the rebellion, before Duscur. He’d accepted it without thinking, and then wondered at the ease with which he had been willing. It was like slipping into something old and comfortable and wonderful, something he’d thought was gone for good. He’d let himself imagine…

He hissed under his breath, longing to banish the thoughts. His mistake had been doubting himself at all. He wouldn’t make it again.

“Do you understand what’s happening, boar?” he demanded, his voice rough. “Edelgard has declared _war_. The Emperor of Adrestia. She has been preparing for this for Goddess knows how long. Do you _get_ that? When you charge at her, screaming for blood, you aren’t going to get your cherished revenge, no matter _how_ many drills you put yourself through. You are going to fucking _die_.”

And on that last word, his voice cracked. He gritted his teeth, blood flooding his face. He could have ripped out his own throat for the betrayal.

Only weeks before, he would have expected Dimitri to laugh and try to use the slip to find some common ground between them. He couldn’t have imagined missing it, so very badly, when his oldest and best friend merely shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Perhaps,” the boar murmured. “Perhaps you are right. But I have a chance to take her with me, and that is --”

Madness surged through him, and Felix charged.

Whatever fell spirit inhabited Dimitri’s body, it had not expected that. When Felix crashed into him with his shoulder, bowling into him with all of his weight, he went down like a training dummy, his practice spear clattering off into the darkness. Most importantly, he didn’t finish his cursed thought, didn’t force Felix to hear whatever he’d been going to say, and that had been the point.

They tumbled together across the stone, and while Dimitri had always had the advantage of size and strength, Felix had the benefit of being in his right goddess-damned mind. He ended up on top, the dulled tip of his ceremonial sword pressed against Dimitri’s throat. He bared his teeth, gripping the hilt in a two-handed grip, and barely resisted screaming into his face.

“Shut up,” he gasped. “Do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“Of course.”

“Then go to hell! If you think I’ll let you just stand there and tell me that you’d rather be dead -- after everything, after all we’ve been through, after Glenn _died_ keeping your _sorry_ hide walking this earth --”

Something seemed to switch on inside of Dimitri’s addled brain when Felix spoke his dead brother’s name. Light flared behind his bright blue eyes, and Felix didn’t have time to brace himself before Dimitri was thrusting him off, sending him tumbling bodily across the stone. He fought to his feet, holding the ceremonial sword at the ready. Dimitri had retrieved his wooden practice lance, and he advanced on him as though he were an enemy on the battlefield. Felix eyed the dulled tip of the weapon. It was designed to be used in a spar, for nonlethal force, and yet… he was fairly certain that if Dimitri were to lose sight of where they were, with his strength behind it, it could severely hurt him. He took an uneasy step back, the sword held in a guarding position between them. 

“I am sorry,” Dimitri said, and, worst of all, he sounded like he meant it. “But you can’t speak for Glenn.”

Felix hissed out a humourless laugh. “And you can?”

Dimitri’s eyes burned blue in the darkness, so horribly alien. “Yes.”

He said it with such quiet certainty, as if it wasn’t absolutely insane. Felix laughed again, only louder and more desperate. His blade lowered between them. “And this is what you think he’d want? For you to throw your life away on some idiotic revenge fantasy? He’d want the same thing I do! For you to snap out of this and--”

His words seemed to infuriate the boar, and he barely had time to bring his sword back up as he saw the tension in his upper arms, right before he came at him with the practice spear.

Felix met the wooden haft with his own weapon. If it had been a real sword, he’d have cleaved it in twain, but the dull blade merely clanged worthlessly against it. He wasn’t prepared for that, and it sent him a step back, putting him on the defensive.

Dimitri pressed the advantage, closing the distance between them with a bulging jaw and determination stitched between his brows. “I know!” he exclaimed, and Felix noticed a moment later the way his eyes flickered back over his shoulder, as if someone were standing there, right before he swung the spear. 

The unrestrained power of his strike sent shocks up Felix’s arms, numbing them and setting his teeth ajar. He did not like being on the defensive! But between the clumsy weight of the ceremonial sword, and Dimitri’s unfettered strength, he was forced to take another step back.

“I don’t intend to hurt him,” Dimitri snapped, and for a moment Felix was confused before he realized it wasn’t him being addressed. “What do you take me for?”

His gorge rose and a sense of dread dropped his stomach into his feet. “Do you think someone is _there_?” he demanded. All of Dimitri’s mutterings and laughter from the past week now seemed obscene, a premonition of some terrible nightmare. “Someone who can hear you?” He shook his head. “You’re sick. You’re _deranged._”

Dimitri’s eyes seemed to focus on him, and then they narrowed. He twirled his spear, and Felix was unprepared for the butt of it to take him in the stomach, hard, snatching the air from his lungs and sending him stumbling back to where he collided with one of the pillars.

He put up his sword between them, but then Dimitri was there, slamming the spear against his chest, pinning him. Felix kicked out, hard, blows colliding with Dimitri’s shins, but the damned berserking bear didn’t react beyond a slight tightening in the corners of his eyes.

“Perhaps I am,” he said, his voice so low that it rumbled up Felix’s spine, making him shudder in ways that he _hated_. He switched the grip on the haft, sliding it up. “But you’re here. Why is that, Felix? Two years, you have avoided me. Done all you can to avoid being in the same room as I was. And yet, here you are. Watching me. Saying you want me to live. Why?”

Hysterical, disbelieving laughter rose in his throat. “Is that a joke? Of _course_ I want you to live, you -- what do you _think_ I want? I --”

The haft of the spear pressed against his throat, sealing off his windpipe. His throat closed. His eyes widened.

Dimitri regarded him dispassionately. “I don’t know,” he said, something searchingly desperate in his tone that was echoed in the way he furrowed his brow, shaking his head faintly.

Felix swung the sword at him, connecting with his side.

He barely seemed to notice. “I think I did, once upon a time,” he murmured. “You wanted _me_, did you not? Ah. But I did not appreciate it, then. Nor did I understand it, not fully. And by the time I did…”

A million miles away, musing to himself like that, while Felix dropped the sword with a clatter, raising his hands to pull at the wood of the haft. Blackness began to crowd in at the edge of his vision, desperation rising in his chest and throat.

“You say you want nothing to do with me. All year, you say it. And yet, now, now that it’s all come to this, you follow me. You stand watch.” He cocked his head, studying him intently. “What _is_ it that you want from me, Felix? It cannot possibly be the same as it was, all those years ago. Can it?”

All those years ago.

He’d been a stupid kid. He hadn’t known what he’d wanted. He hadn’t understood what that even meant.

_”Ingrid wants to marry your brother,”_ Sylvain had said, conspiratorial over stolen apple tarts. _“But I wish I could marry Ingrid.”_

_”I’m going to marry Dimitri,_” he’d replied, because all the million reasons why that could never happen hadn’t intruded, just yet.

His hands clutched Dimitri’s rock hard forearms through his shirt. He stared up into his merciless, searching gaze, scanning his face, silently pleading.

Darkness and tears blurred his vision.

He couldn’t breathe.

And then, abruptly, he could.

He sucked in air, coughing and hacking and gasping. Dimitri stepped back. Somewhere far away, the practice spear clattered against a wall, hurled roughly. He flexed his fingers against the pillar he slumped against, starbursts erupting before his eyes. His heart thudded in his ears, blood rushing, he could barely stay upright, and the air tasted sweeter than fresh icemelt.

“What do you want?” Dimitri’s voice seemed to come from somewhere very far away, high and distant. “Has nothing changed, in the end? Could it be as simple as that?”

“You’re insane,” Felix croaked out, forcing himself straight once again, putting his back flat against the pillar behind him. Dimitri was there, looming closer and closer. “What are you -- even talking about, I --”

He gasped and lost his words as Dimitri slipped one leg between his, thigh pressing exploringly against his groin. He looked away as quickly as he could, heat flooding his face, but not before he saw the beast’s lips part slightly and the smallest stitch of curious interest knit between his brows.

He was hard.

It meant nothing. The thrill of battle and the agony of having the life choked out of him. A physical response to adrenaline. He brought up his hands to push at broad, strong shoulders. “Let me go,” he commanded, his voice scraping roughly out of his throat. There still didn’t seem to be enough air to fill his lungs.

“Is that what you want?” Dimitri’s fingers on his chin, tilting his face toward him. He closed his eyes, so he didn’t have to look at him. “What is it that you _want_?” he pressed. “I have not been able to make things right between us, no matter what I’ve tried.”

Felix gasped, his eyes flying open, locking with the beast’s cold blue gaze. His other hand had slipped down low, pressing where his thigh had explored, cupping and exploring the size of him through his pants. He swallowed rapidly, his battered throat resisting it. _Let me go_, he wanted to repeat, but this time, the words wouldn’t reach his tongue.

It was _not_ what he wanted. What he _wanted_ was to ensure that his future king did not give in completely to the beast that wore his skin, and get himself put down for good. What he _wanted_ was for it to have never come to this! What he wanted was to undo the last five years of his life, pulling at a thread to unravel all the mistakes, so that they could do it again, right this time. No Duscur, no rebellion, no boar.

Dimitri squeezed him. A strangled, tortured moan escaped Felix’s lips where a refusal would not.

Fingers found his laces, tugging experimentally. He couldn’t look directly at him. He couldn’t look away. _Stop it_. He had the words on his tongue, but didn’t say them. _Let me go_. If he said them, there was a chance Dimitri would stop, and that was unthinkable.

There was also a chance that he would not.

Would that have been better? Or worse.

“I have not done this before,” Dimitri said. He sounded entirely too composed, apologetic, even, as he loosened the laces, and then pulled his trousers apart. “But I believe I understand what is required, at least in theory.” He pushed aside his smallclothes. Felix gasped and whimpered when calloused fingers brushed against his cock, then squeezed his eyes tightly, looking away, when they drew him out, exposing him to the night air. “I can give you what you want.”

Had Felix ever known actually what he wanted, even once in his fucking life?

“Boar,” he said. Breathless, weak. “What are you doing? _Why_?”

He paused, stilling. Felix’s ragged breaths filled the air between them. Eternity passed in a single moment. “Am I mistaken?” he asked. “It does not seem so. This is why you are here, is it not?”

He could have laughed, if his battered lungs would allow it. “I’m here,” he gasped, “to ensure that you don’t collapse! Or take some _stupid_ risk and get yourself killed before you even see the battlefield, not to mention what you’ll do when you get there! Or turn that murderous, animal glee on someone who doesn’t deserve it!”

Dimitri shook his head. His damp hair moved so prettily in the moonlight, gold and silver. “I know who my enemies are,” he said. “I know only too well.”

“Am I your enemy then?” Felix shot at him, raising a hand to his bruised, aching throat.

And Dimitri’s fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing tightly before drawing slowly upward. “No,” he said softly. “Never. What about you, Felix? Am I yours?”

Goddess.

His head fell back against the pillar, shutting his eyes tight. This was a dream. This had to be a dream. The highs and lows, ups and downs, were simply too intense for reality. Dimitri’s hand stroked him experimentally, slowly, base to tip. His hips rolled forward to meet him, heedless of his better judgement.

“I thought you hated me,” Dimitri murmured, stepping in closer. Felix could feel his body heat, radiating through their clothes. “I confess… I am glad you don’t. You aren’t the only one who has wanted this, you know.”

He _didn’t_ want this. Not like this. Did he?

His head spun. Only the pillar behind him kept him upright. Had to be a dream. Nothing else made sense.

“I do hate you,” he whispered breathlessly, unconvincing to even his own ears. His head fell back against the pillar behind him. “Hate what you’ve become. Or what you’ve always been! How long did the beast lurk beneath? How did you manage to deceive all of us for so long? This is what you are, all you ever were!” His own words cut him up, regret and guilt and desperate, _horrible_ longing tearing all the way through him. He shook his head. “Whose voices do you hear, boar? My brother? Is he there right now, then, watching you --”

“No,” Dimitri said, quiet, considering, unceasingly steady in his rhythm. “For now… he’s quiet. They all are.”

Humourless, ragged laughter escaped him. “Wonderful! I’ve fixed you, then! Just like I always --” His breath hitched. Dimitri’s hand squeezed at his head, thumb rough and light against his slit. His hips stuttered. A whine escaped his throat.

“Just like you wanted,” the damned beast said, near a growl. “I wish I had known. I wanted it, too.”

A dream. A nightmare. Not real. He could say whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted. No consequences. None of this could possibly be real.

“I want more,” he said, eyes squeezed shut, against all his best judgement. “I always have.”

Dimitri’s hand stilled. He breathed in, long and slow, then out. He was so close his breath sent Felix’s bangs dancing, tickling his face.“More,” he repeated. Considering. A moment later, he nodded, his forehead brushing against Felix’s. “All right.”

His hands slid around his hips, strangely gentle as he pushed aside the fabric of his pants as he went. Felix screwed up his face, ragged breaths deafening inside the prison of his skull. What was he doing. This was a public place. Past midnight, but he'd said it himself. Curfew wasn't being enforced. Anyone could walk in, see him there, pants around his ankles.

He stepped out of them. Less obscene, that way.

"Felix…" Dimitri whispered, and Felix gritted his teeth against the softness in his tone, the reverence. 

"Don't," he snapped. "Don't say my name. Not like that! Don't pretend like… don't…"

Dimitri stepped in closer, between his legs. 

"Don't," Felix repeated, imploring him. He didn't even know what he was asking, anymore.

Dimitri's hand was on his thigh, under his knee. 

He shook his head. 

Dimitri hauled his leg up.

He shuddered. Dimitri's hand was cool and large and strong, and Felix's cock hung hot and heavy and bereft between them. His hips jerked forward, finding no contact. It was all right, he reasoned, to ask for what he wanted. After all, this was all just a terrible nightmare. 

"Please," he gasped out. His throat still ached. "Whatever it is you’re going to do, just _do_ it.”

Dimitri hummed, low and considering. Felix tensed and gasped as he felt his nose against his jaw, his cheek. “Felix,” he said again, and he _hated_ it, hearing his name on this feral animal’s lips, hated how it put him in the mind of childhood fantasies long since dashed to pieces by reality, and, worse, of more recent, more tentative hopes.

He’d really let himself doubt, hadn’t he? Really let himself imagine that the Dimitri he saw day to day, the Dimitri he’d wanted and loved since as long as he could remember wanting or loving anything at all, was real, and here, and possible, and the beast had just been some misunderstanding…

Something pressed against his lips. He blinked his eyes open, dazed. Dimitri gazed down at him, his wonderful blue eyes so unbearably alien. He held the tips of two fingers against Felix’s mouth. He said nothing, did nothing, just left them there in silent askance.

Felix burned with shame and want as he parted his lips to allow the fingers into his mouth.

The beast stared at him as he slid his tongue around and then between them, so close that Felix could feel his breath on his face. He looked so damned unaffected, and it was once again crystal clear that this was a terrible idea, that Felix was making a mistake, that he shouldn’t let this go any further. He could stop it, he was sure he could. Twist out of the beast’s grasp, jab him hard in the kidney as he moved, and then run. He’d get away.

Instead, he sucked his fingers in further, choking down something that might have been, horribly enough, a quiet moan of pleasure when a tiny little stitch appeared between the boar’s brows.

“You look so beautiful, Felix,” he breathed, his grip tightening on Felix’s thigh, bruisingly strong, almost as painful as hearing such useless, cruel words. “I _have_ imagined this. Imagined you. But I --”

No. Felix bit down on his fingertips, hard, cutting him off with a surprised exhalation. Whatever explanation he had -- he didn’t want to hear it, any of it. What ghosts he might invoke, what madness he might spew, or what perfectly sane-seeming rationalizations might come, instead. Everything that might come out of his ravenous, savage mouth was poison. Nothing at all was far preferable.

At least then, he could imagine something better.

He licked between Dimitri’s fingers, saliva thick and slick, and then pushed them out with his tongue. Enough of this.

Dimitri nodded severely, withdrawing them. Had Felix ever thought his eyes looked kind? Sad? Familiar, even? It was like being pierced by sapphire knives. He ground his teeth, looking away from him, eyes sliding shut once again. It had been better, that way. Easier.

For a long moment, stretching into eternity, nothing happened. Felix squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Clarity seemed to dawn. This wasn’t what he wanted. Dimitri was out of his mind. Felix’s stomach, throat, back -- all still ached from his out of control physical aggression. If he had half a brain in his head, he’d end this, now, while there was still time, before he got himself killed.

Slick fingers pressed against his entrance.

And he _did_ moan his pleasure, then.

“If you relax,” Dimitri said from above him, reasonable and composed and distant, “it won’t hurt.”

Felix gasped out a delirious laugh. “How do _you_ know that?” he demanded, because of course, he already did, from his own shameful explorations.

“Hold on,” Dimitri said, as if he hadn’t heard him. Maybe he hadn’t. Felix gritted his teeth, turned his face away, and swung his arms up around his neck, wrapping tightly around him, pulling him closer.

White sparks erupted behind his eyes when Dimitri slid the tip of one finger inside of him. He keened, burying his face into his damp white shirt. He’d done it to himself, imagining and wanting things he knew he oughtn’t, but this… this was entirely different. His cock, crushed up between them, twitched and ached, and he squirmed, trying to find friction for it. 

“This is what you want,” the beast growled against his ear, and Felix wished him silent. “Isn’t it?”

“More,” Felix implored, ears hot, heart thudding. He was a disgrace.

Dimitri gave him what he asked.

He filled him slowly, but relentlessly. Up to the second knuckle, and then drew himself slowly out and back in again. Felix bore down on him, wanting more, deeper, harder, _more_. The pillar behind him steadying him as he squirmed first back and then forward, trying to force it. Dimitri pushed him deeper, deeper yet, working in and out, a little further every time.

“Relax,” Dimitri repeated, commanding where Felix craved soothing. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He thought of the bruises mottling his body, the desperation of being without breath, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hold onto me,” Dimitri repeated, and released his thigh.

Felix obeyed instinctively, wrapping his leg around him. This was so wrong, all of this was so wrong.

Dimitri slid out of him.

He whimpered.

“Please,” he begged.

A second finger joined the first, slow and insistent, and Felix gasped and let his head fall back, overwhelmed with the sensation of it. He barely had a moment to adjust to the wonderful fullness, the aching, dragging burn, before that other strong, large hard clasped his cock once again and he cried out, his voice echoing in the empty training yard.

_Stop this!_, he tried to tell himself, fierce and angry, but he could barely hear his own internal voice over his gasping breath, his burning need.

Dimitri’s grip was firm and strong and unyielding. This time, when his thumb stroked across his head and his slit, he found him wet and ready and eager. Felix would have liked -- something. Teasing. Cruel mockery, even. But Dimitri gave no reaction, only spread his leaking fluid over the head of him, coaxing more forth, making Felix moan and hiss. His fingers within him curled and probed, and Felix cried out again, biting his tongue to keep himself quiet. Someone would hear. Someone would come. The thought was strangely hilarious. Would even that stop him? Or would he simply let this creature pleasure him while they watched, horrified.

“You’re twisted,” Felix panted. Sweat collected and then dripped between his shoulder blades. “You’re broken and you’re mad. And fuck me if I’m not just as bad.” The bitter words tasted painfully sweet on his tongue, elevating his pleasure. This was a nightmare, he reminded himself. He could do or say anything he wanted. 

He peeled his eyes open. Dimitri looked so damned focused, concentrating with narrowed eyes, furrowed brow, and set mouth. He glanced down between them, and his one knee wobbled at the sight of those hands, one stroking him, the other working between his legs. Depraved. Perverse.

“Yes,” he whined. “Goddess, this is sick. Please. Don’t stop. Shit. Ah, fuck!”

He knocked his head back against the pillar. _Are you going to fuck me?_ he wanted to ask, because it was what he wanted -- what he’d always wanted. But in the time it would take Dimitri to free his cock, change their positions, slide into place, he would be forgoing so much ill-considered bliss.

His hands crawled up into Dimitri’s hair, damp with sweat. He was so close. When he’d come, when he’d spent himself, _then_ there would be time to think about anything else but this, but the relentless paws of a beast upon him…

“Dimitri,” he gasped, hating himself for speaking his name, after swearing he never would again. “Dimitri, please. Please, I’m so -- I’m so --”

“I know,” Dimitri said. And then, with surprising sweetness, his eyes going soft and kind for just long enough to make Felix’s already galloping heart squeeze and shudder, “Come for me, won’t you, Felix?”

And, in the end, he was still the man who had been trained since birth to obey the wishes of his future king.

He buried his face in the crook of his neck as he released, splattering both of them with seed, crying out pathetically into Dimitri’s warm skin. Colours rolled over him in uneven waves. Every muscle clenched and released. He flexed his fingers in Dimitri’s hair, and he didn’t know what damned fool things he said in those moments of starry ecstasy. He’d never be able to recall them later.

(And if he could, repeating them would be out of the question.)

Sanity dawned quicker than he would have liked. He struggled to catch his breath, lungs still battered from the rest of the night’s encounters, still clinging to Dimitri like he was drowning. One hand still gently held his softening cock. The other had tugged at his hair, pulling it down, running fingers through it. He smiled faintly. Disgusting. He knew where that hand had been.

For a moment, he allowed himself the pleasure of not thinking. He could have put it off for a long time, standing here in the circle of his arms, imagining it all just slightly different. 

Except that the man who held him opened his mouth.

“I know,” he said, quietly, voice muffled against Felix’s hair. “I shouldn’t have. It’s a distraction. Just give me another moment with him… please.”

The chill that went down Felix’s spine and settled sickly into the pit of his stomach stole all joy and comfort away from him.

He shoved him back, hard. “Get away from me,” he gasped. “Don’t touch me.”

For once, his attack seemed to actually make an impression on the beast. He stumbled back a step, looking, for all the world, hurt by the action. Felix fell to his knees, scrabbling for his pants, his sword. He needed to be dressed, immediately. Every second he spent exposed like this was another moment he was letting this farce continue.

Dimitri made a distant sound, considering and sad. Felix gritted his teeth, hauling on his pants, nearly ripping them in his haste.

“Nothing has changed, then,” he said. He sounded so affected, so pathetic.

“Of course nothing has changed,” Felix gasped. His heart was galloping his chest. This was not a nightmare. Only reality could be so cruel. “Listen to you! Still chattering at nothing, as if --” He snapped his chin up to look at him, standing there with his shoulders drooping. “Can you believe,” he snapped, “can you possibly _believe_ that I’d started to think that maybe _I_ was the crazy one? That I’d imagined your bloodthirsty madness, your twisted joy in killing, the way reality had completely left your eyes! That you were as you ever were, and I had misjudged you! I was right all along. I was the only one who saw the truth!”

The boar, the monster, gazed sadly down at him. “I never claimed otherwise,” he said quietly.

“You’re sick,” Felix spat. His ass still ached with emptiness. His shirt was still dotted with his come. _And I’m worse._

“I’m sorry.”

He was sorry! Well, then. He struggled to his feet. “Nothing has changed,” he repeated, the weight of it pressing down on him, crushing him. “You’re still planning to spend your life for nothing, still thirsty for blood and vengeance, still not worth all the loyalty you command from all of us who serve you! What sort of a king throws it all away and leaves the rest of us to deal with everything you leave behind? A shit one. You’re not worthy of the name.”

“Then it is a good thing I never allowed them to put a crown on my head,” the boar said.

He offered a hand.

Felix bared his teeth, swallowing down all manner of emotions. “You’re sick,” he repeated. “I never should have -- I should have --” He cut himself off. What use was there for any of it, after what had just happened.

He took the offered hand, letting the boar pull him to his feet.

“Felix,” Dimitri said, so close once again. They smelled like sex. It curdled his stomach. “What just happened. Everything I said. I --”

Felix clamped his hand over his mouth. “Don’t,” he said, and where he meant to sound commanding and hard and furious, he only sounded pleading. “I don’t -- I can’t hear it. I -- you --”

What could he even say?

He stepped away. “If you can even listen to reason, then don’t attack me when I turn away,” he snapped. “I’ve enough bruises from you, this night.”

He turned and fled, making it all the way back to his room before he realized he left his ceremonial sword behind, unsheathed, on the stones of the training ground floor. If he turned around, the boar would be there. On the stairs. On the walk. Or still in the grounds, having resumed his endless drills, preparing his body for carnage and murder and his own death. Felix couldn’t go back, not now. Not with how his traitorous mind kept thinking, kept wishing…

_He didn’t even kiss me._

He’d get it in the morning, he decided, huddling beneath the covers in his bed. When he resumed his vigil.

Someone had to watch over him.


End file.
